


real life retail horror stories

by catpoop



Series: peter englert goes grocery shopping [1]
Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: -Ish, Canon Universe, Crack, Gen, One Shot, Pizza time, peter englert is the worst fuckin customer youll ever meet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21629356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: Peter Englert orders yet another pizza. Sam delivers it for him.
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges & Higgs Monaghan
Series: peter englert goes grocery shopping [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559998
Kudos: 65





	real life retail horror stories

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [Real Life Retail Horror Stories 零售业真实恐怖故事](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26316637) by [Hiljatuuli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiljatuuli/pseuds/Hiljatuuli)



The order comes in around 12am. [URGENT] – Delicious Pizza!!!, reads the text on his cufflinks, and if Sam weren’t currently wide awake and dreading trying to spend another eight hours pretending to sleep in the confines of his private room, he would’ve ignored the request immediately.

 _‘Oh, what’s another happy customer,’_ he thinks. But despite the early hour, and despite the sluggish way with which he pulls his gear on, Sam is genuinely glad to be stepping back out into the wilderness. Because he likes his job – and well, the distraction that it serves. 

Shaking his head, and giving the dreamcatcher one last thoughtful stroke, he sets out for the pizzeria in Lake Knot city. Close, thankfully, to Peter Englert’s bunker.

The man has ordered pizza more than a couple of times now, and never shown his face. Judging by the emails he has written, Sam wonders if the man is not just too embarrassed to meet a ‘hero’. The idea sours his mood, if only because Sam has never considered himself much a hero. He has his orders, and he completes them. If it weren’t for BB and his DOOMS, he would be just another regular porter.

He shoves the thoughts aside when the building the pizzeria is housed in comes into sight. There must be all sorts of folks living within, Sam reckons, because he’s received machinery, talked to chefs and dedicated researchers, and seen a child run past the holographic projector mid-conversation. The woman representing the pizzeria appears in front of him.

Rita has a pinched expression on her face. “Ah, Sam. Here to pick up the pizza, are you?”

He nods, ready to take the order from her hands and walk back out into the night. She continues, expression growing steadily darker.

“You know this man, this Peter, who orders all these pizzas – he’s a right real piece of work. Sent in an order for a smoked salmon and gouda pizza, as if it weren’t already difficult enough to make pepperoni from scratch. Anyway, Sam, I sent him a message back – ‘No can do, mister. No salmon here nor as far as the eye can see.’ And he calls me back, yelling into the headset about checking in the back, or _’What about those damn fish all over the ground everywhere?’_ ” She lets out a lengthy sigh, and Sam shifts awkwardly on the spot.

“And guess what, there was the smallest bit of smoked salmon right at the back of the freezer, and so I dig it out and defrost it and put it _all_ over that man’s pizza. You bet he’s lucky I didn’t spit in it.” She chuckles, and Sam lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight grin.

“Oh, anyway.” Rita smiles, tired. Sam think he should be feeling tired too, at this time of day, but the weariness in his bones is all too familiar by now. “The pizza should be coming through right now. You tell that man it was made with love, and delivered with –” A snort. “Oh, you decide what it was delivered with. You have a good night, then.”

Sam gives her a short nod, straps the pizza to his back, and returns to his trike. The thing about metal containers, he thinks, is that none of the smell leaks out. Good for when you’re delivering a box of live cryptobiotes. Good for when you’re feeling a tad peckish and the pizza on your back radiates imaginary warmth. He makes a note to pick up a pizza of his own for breakfast, and speeds out onto the highway. 

The familiar automated message welcomes his presence. The terminal accepts his delivery immediately after, and Sam stands there in the relative warmth of the shelter, waiting for the performance eval to pop up. No such luck.

Well, he can’t tell if it’s lucky or _not_ , when Peter Englert himself appears in a flash of light. Sam thinks back to Rita’s tale and feels a frown pulling at his lips.

The man is dressed in patterned pyjamas – what the pattern resembles, he can’t make out through the projector. Peter looks down his nose at Sam, though that isn’t what Sam is looking at – he has his focus a little higher up, on the lack of eyebrows. He quirks a brow of his own.

Sam decides not to comment on it. After all, he sees all sorts in his delivery job, and no one looks their best when they are collecting research materials from him during a 72-hour marathon in the lab with little to no sleep. Or when they’re up at midnight to order a pizza.

Peter looks at him, then looks to the side where his pizza must have appeared. 

“Where’s my drink? I ordered one, Mister Sam Bridges.”

Sam makes a face, itching to leave. Screw the eval – he can check it elsewhere. “You didn’t.”

“Uh… yeah I fucking did. Did you lose it or some shit?” Frowning, Peter reaches off-screen, hand reappearing with a slice of pizza. He bites into it angrily.

The sight of it all reminds Sam that he could walk out right now, grab a pizza from Rita on the way, and sit on the floor of his private room to munch in silence. Or sit outside somewhere. He doesn’t mind either way. Instead, he takes a calming breath. “The pizzeria doesn’t do drinks. You’ll need to place another order.”

Peter frowns, if possible, even deeper than he had been before. He shoves the rest of the slice in his mouth, and chewing, cuts the connection.

“Are you going to give me any likes, then? For that _salmon_ and gouda pizza?” Sam directs at thin air before turning to leave. 

Unexpectedly, he gets a response. The man is working on another slice of pizza. “Oh, fine.” He says through a mouthful. “You get one like. Happy? And there’s expired Monster Energy by the door. Help yourself.”

“Why don’t you have that with your pizza?” Sam wonders idly, eyeing the clearly timefall-damaged cartons in the corner.

He gets an angry finger in response. More than one, actually. Peter holds the slice in his mouth, directs both middle fingers at an unamused Sam for a good second, and cuts the connection.

Shaking his head, Sam finally steps out of the bunker. He’s got better folks to spend his time around.

**Author's Note:**

> is rita short for margherita pizza? why yes it is
> 
> higgs is wearing black pyjamas w gold skulls. they are cotton, not silk
> 
> comments r super duper appreciated!
> 
>   
>  [tumblr](https://swummeng-geys.tumblr.com)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hashtag_yikes)


End file.
